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Wake Me Up When September Ends

Writer: mlauro1128mlauro1128

Memory is 

merciless. 


I frame 

moments of memory 

in mind:

me 

          on your bed       

you

          on your feet.


A snapshot of your gaze. 


Looming. Subdued and 

sublime

soaking

in the warm blue of midnight.


Silent solid presence

inhales  

humid August air 

exhales 

my name 

into darkness. 


I melt into summer 

but 

summer has no sensation.


Unzip my longing. 

Devour my desire.


release

retreat 

repent. 


You never touched me 

only

ate me alive.


Anyone I meet in summer

smothers me and 

like summer

slips out the window

one September night

to wake with a chill

in stillness. 


Memory is metaphor.

Singed at the tips, 

crisp in my hand.

Crumbling

into empty palms of autumn. 


Memory.

Is a martyr.


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